I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just use them as substitutes for those days when I just can't find the antidepressants. An enormous thank you to Claudette for not only coming up with that sentence, but for catching my moronic word mistake. No, Carrul does not have a goat. ;.;


Two days, thought Lucy the next morning. That's how long Peter said it would take. And today's the second.

That meant that today, it was likely that they would discover whether or not the rumors were true. Of course, if the day before had been any indication, there was certainly someone out there who wished them dead, but whether or not it was an organized act of violence they had yet to determine. One thing was odd, though – the archers who had attacked them had been human, and there were no humans in Narnia that she knew of. Granted, there were some that had come over from Archenland and other neighboring countries, like the sailors, but no one moved so far up north as Ettinsmoor, and certainly not without first paying their respects at the Cair. It was most peculiar.

However curious it was, it didn't stop Lucy from feeling rather sore and cranky the next morning. Sleeping in chain mail was not in the least bit comfortable, nor was it warm, and though she had woken to find Peter's cloak draped over herself as well as her own (she'd given her blue-lipped brother a thorough scolding for it), she was frigid. Over breakfast, the entire party had been quiet bordering on brooding. They had held off on calling up the first few brigades despite the earlier attack, because there was not yet any evidence to suggest that the archers hadn't simply been rogues and unconnected to any sort of rally.

There was no camp to pack up, and so as soon as everyone had eaten, they set out. Light grey clouds hung in the sky. The air was humid, though still cold, producing a rather miserable, soggy feeling. Trudging through piles of rotting foliage that smelled almost as bad as they felt, Lucy bit back her complaints and carried on in the alert silence that they all shared. She did not miss her brothers' tense hands upon their swords, nor her sister's white-knuckled grip on her bow. Carrul, grey coat shining faintly in the morning mist, led the way with a grim determination, and she knew that whatever was ahead could not be favorable. Her unease grew.

Aside from the tension in the group there was something else troublesome – the forest, where it had first been healthy and flourishing, was now spotted with dead and dying plants. Some were great trees, cracked and fallen to rest upon their living companions. Others were patches of what had once been flowers or bushes but were now for the most part limp and colorless. There was a distinctly unhealthy feel to the environment.

When the sun had finally managed to rise above the treetops, there came a rustling in the undergrowth and they all stopped dead, listening. All eyes trained on what was once a flowering shrub, now a shriveled mess of decaying leaves, as something inside moved feebly as if in pain. Nothing happened for a moment. Then, when whatever it was made no more movement, a massive bay centaur rushed forward, plunged his hand into the bush and withdrew the creature from within.

It was a dryad, probably the guardian of a tree in that very forest. It was quite apparent that she was suffering – her body was covered in ugly welts and scratches and she struggled only for a brief second before going limp in the centaur's grasp. He let go in shock. As she tumbled to the soft, leaf-strewn ground, her enormous brown eyes slid closed and from her lips escaped a faint, pained cry. No one knew quite what to do until Carrul took a step towards the dryad and addressed her.

"Forest spirit," he said. "How have you come to be in such a state?"

She had curled into a protective ball, shaking from cold and hurt and fear. Lucy felt a surge of pity and swept off her own cloak, moving to wrap it around the shoulders of the poor creature. She eased the dryad into a sitting position and made little soothing noises like Susan had done for her when she'd had nightmares back in England. When she looked up, she found the centaurs watching impassively and her siblings wearing identical expressions of subtle pride and encouragement.

"Where is your tree?" Lucy asked gently. The dryad was clinging to her shoulders as she crouched in the dead leaves, and she was finding it increasingly difficult not to tip over. She heard a snort of impatience from one of the centaurs as she held the shaking spirit in her arms. The dryad slowly looked up with wide, terrified eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly she gave a horrible wail and her entire body stiffened as if struck with a hatchet.

"A hole," she gasped, before her eyes clouded over for the last time and she fell from Lucy's arms, dead. A ripple of shock ran through the party. Lucy felt a hand on her shoulder and lifted her disbelieving eyes to see her sister, whose own eyes were open in surprise and fear.

"We have no time to waste, Majesties," Carrul said suddenly, his voice full of urgency. "Only those with a great army at their backs would dare risk the anger of the forest."

Lucy bent to tuck her cloak around the still figure of the dead spirit, but Susan touched her arm and shook her head sadly.

"You'll be needing that later," she whispered. Slowly, unwillingly, Lucy slid the cloth away, but she did not fasten it about herself. It didn't feel right.

One of the centaurs lifted the dyad easily from the ground and deposited her in the gnarled roots of a tall tree, so that she was nestled in the knotted wood comfortably. Carrul spoke a few hurried words in a tongue Lucy did not understand, then stepped back and looked gravely at his monarchs. He did not speak, but his desire to be moving onward was entirely evident. Peter glanced at his siblings before nodding solemnly, and they resumed their journey in silence. There was no birdsong, no laugh of nymphs from the running river in the distance, no sign that the forest contained any life at all.

After another hour of hurried travel through the wood, though, a new sound came to their ears. It was a combination of many things – clanking, thudding, hammering, and the buzz of chatter among others – almost as if they were overhearing a small village. But everyone knew the Northlands were uninhabited. It wasn't possible.

However, impossible would always be meaningless in Narnia, and this was proven as through the trees they glimpsed a clearing and the centaurs stopped dead, looking shocked.

"There should be no glen here," muttered Carrul. "Something is amiss."

They hastened on until they came to a sea of stumps, all that remained of a portion of the glorious forest. Beyond it, several small, crude dwellings had been erected, smoke trailing from rough clay chimneys. Lucy felt the centaurs behind her stiffen. And then, suddenly, a door opened in one of the houses and a tired-looking man holding a large wood axe stepped outside, holding the tool before him threateningly and eyeing the newcomers with distaste.

"You leave my family alone," he said wearily from a distance. His grip shifted on the axe. His accent was strange and implacable, like nothing Lucy had heard in Narnia or England. Frowning, she wondered how he could possibly think to battle against the power not only of several armed centaurs, but of four Kings and Queens of Narnia. He seemed horribly ignorant, but scared and exhausted.

"Put aside your weapon, stranger. Who are you?" Carrul demanded. The man's eyes trailed over the party, taking in first the centaurs with an expression of dulled shock, then over the four rulers. This seemed to surprise him more.

"You," he said urgently, looking at them. "You four. You're…human?"

They nodded, and Carrul took another intimidating step towards him.

"Thank God, we've been here weeks and not one proper human, except her, and she disappeared right after…" He broke into a coughing fit. Lucy's breath caught in her chest.

"Who is she?" Edmund asked, voicing her thoughts. The man looked up after he was done wheezing.

"The Lady," he said, as if it explained everything.

"Look, we aren't going to hurt you," Peter said impatiently. "Put the axe down, we'll drop our weapons, and we can discuss this like the civilized people we are."

"And who do you think you are to tell me that, boy?" said the man. Lucy found this to be an extraordinarily amusing question, and her laughter spilled forth, slicing through the tension like nothing else could.

"Why, he's the High King of Narnia, silly!" she exclaimed. "Everyone knows that!"

It was clear from his face that he didn't, and he eyed them with even more distrust than before.

"What sort of game is this?" he demanded.

"Please, sir," Susan said politely. "We mean you no harm. Set aside your weapon and let us discuss matters inside, out of the cold."

The gentleness in her tone seemed to make a difference in his response. He glanced from her to Peter, then back to Susan, before reluctantly lowering his axe and finally tossing it to one side.

"Fine," he muttered. "But they stay outside." He jerked a thumb at the centaurs, who looked indifferent, and turned to open the door of the house. Peter set about removing his sheath from his belt and set it down on the ground. Edmund followed suit. Susan parted with her bow, and Lucy grudgingly pushed her dagger into the earth beside the stump of a tree. Thoroughly unarmed, now, the four followed the stranger through the door of his house.

Hopefully, there would be answers inside.